Master of Mayhem (The Enchanted Well #2)

Chapter Ten

T o what comes next?

A sensation shot through Sabine. It left her feeling hot and flustered and her clothing felt too tight across her breasts.

Laird Lindsey relaxed against the high back of his chair, a satisfied smile on his lips. His eyelids dropped low until he closed them completely. His chest started to rise and fall in the gentle rhythm of sleep.

What precisely came next for a May queen?

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, saving Sabine from thinking about that question. Morven stood there with a basket in her hands. She jerked her head to the side, making it clear that she wanted Sabine to follow her away from Laird Lindsey.

It was better than contemplating what came next for a May queen. She knew the answer to that question well enough!

Sabine followed Morven, hurrying to keep up with the head of house.

Ha! You are running away!

Well, she was interested in putting distance between herself and the old customs of spring. Just because she’d enjoyed a May morning dance and frivolity, that didn’t mean she was going to continue on with the traditions of the druids.

Her belly wouldn’t be swelling up along with the newly planted crops.

“Here.”

Morven had stopped. She turned around and pushed the basket she held toward Sabine. Deep in thought, Sabine skidded to a halt because she’d been moving so quickly.

“There’s better light in here.” Morven pointed into a room. “Towards the back. Open the shutters. Ye can sit on the bunk, I left ye a pallet.”

“A pallet?” Sabine couldn’t stop the question from slipping out.

Morven looked around to make sure they were alone before she answered. “I am the head of house here.”

Morven paused, appearing to be waiting for some sort of acknowledgment. Sabine inclined her head, which earned her a slight twitch from the corner of Morven’s lips.

“The cap is something that might earn enough silver to make it worth feeding ye.” Morven looked down at the basket. “But ye cannot just take yarn to do with as ye please. I have to account for it, ye understand.”

Sabine drew in a stiff breath. She had helped herself to the yarn. “I hope you find the cap good quality.”

Morven’s expression brightened with approval. “It seems to be. But the matter will only be proven if I can convince someone at the market to part with their silver for it. Until then, well, I have decided to put ye to work at my direction. What else can ye make?”

A little flicker of hope brightened inside of Sabine. Hope that she might make a place for herself, a place based upon her skills.

“Stockings. For men and ladies. I can knit silk with these silver knitting wires.” Sabine withdrew the five knitting wires from her underdress. “They are my dowry.”

It was a risk admitting that she had anything of value. No one would defend her if the head of house decided to claim the knitting wires in payment for the yarn she had used without permission.

Well, Ruben might defend her, but then she was beholden to him. And it was clear what Ruben’s father thought she might be useful for.

Morven made a little “humph” sound. “We do nae have any silk. But our wool fiber is fine and smooth. Knit men’s socks, to the knee, with a double fold over.”

Morven reached through the slit on the side of her dress to pull something from her underdress pocket. She dropped an old, rotten sock on top of the yarn.

There was a challenge in the head of house’s eyes, one Sabine was eager to face. She was going to prove she had more to offer than rounding with child as an omen of good luck.

“I am confident I can knit socks,” Sabine stated clearly. She looked at the bundles of yarn stored in the room before selecting two.

Morven nodded. “I’ve a market to get to. This is not a friendly place for English blood. As ye noticed our cook Aisling loathes the sight of ye. Best ye stay where I put ye. There is bread and cheese for ye near the pallet. I will find ye after I return.”

Sabine nodded. She stepped through the doorway and heard the door shut behind her. Sabine’s heart fluttered a few times while she listened intently but there was no sound of a bar being slid shut to lock her into the storeroom.

She wasn’t a prisoner.

She liked that idea, but she enjoyed even more the concept of earning her own way. The Cressen family had contacted her for her knitting skills, so she might use those same skills to make her own way. It was a slightly odd concept, one she struggled to accept because it was simply so foreign.

A daughter obeyed her father and then her husband. Such was the life she had always been expected to live.

Well, you are in a different land…

She was, even if the border wasn’t very far away. It might as well be three times the distance considering Ruben’s promise to come after her. Frustration flickered inside of her in response to that idea, but it wasn’t the only emotion she felt stirring in response.

There was something else, something just as hot and oddly pleasing.

Sabine sniffed and headed toward the back of the room. She needed to begin working to quiet her thoughts. Devoting herself to work had never come so easily to her but in the back of her mind, she knew the stirrings inside of her would be there lurking to rise at the end of the day when she tried to sleep.

And once she fell asleep, she’d have no defense against the heat Ruben ignited inside of her.

*

Morven was eager to get to the market.

Now that the temperature was warming up enough to melt the snow, merchants took to the roads to begin selling the things they had crafted during the winter months. Morven was no different.

The Lindsey head of house made her way into the village at the crossroads with bartering on her mind. The best profit would be made early, when everyone was in need after months of having no way to buy what they used up during the winter.

The village was a place where more than one clan could venture into. There were Lindsey retainers and Gorden ones as well. For the sake of commerce, both clans held their tempers, settling for dark, glowering looks.

Now that spring was here, wagons full of goods were arriving. Those traveling merchants wouldn’t come to a village where there were rumors of fighting, and everyone wanted goods from the harbors. Spices, rare fruits like oranges, and other things were all worth staving off family grudges.

“We’ll set up here,” Morven instructed Eachan and the other Lindsey retainers.

The men were quick to put down their bundles. Eachan sat a small table down and grinned as he shrugged his shoulders to ease the ache carrying the table had left him with.

Morven began to lay out the yarn. People were already moving in her direction to see what she had to sell. They knew that when the yarn was gone, there wouldn’t be any more until the next spring.

“I’ll take two dozen at five silvers.” A woman held up a small leather coin purse.

“Ye will get one dozen for that amount and not a bit more,” Morven began to barter.

Eachan and the other retainers withdrew to allow the women to get on with selling the yarn. Morven was in her element, debating the price. Norrie kept an eye on their goods.

But Morven was waiting as well. She looked over her shoulder to make certain that the retainers were busy talking among themselves before she withdrew the cap from beneath the bundles of yarn. She’d brushed and felted it now that it was dry. She settled the bowl on the table and placed the cap on it to show it off better.

A merchant who had appeared rather bored suddenly took interest in the cap. Morven was quick to notice his interest.

“It’s a fine cap, sir.” Morven tried to entice him.

He ventured closer, leaning over to peer intently at the top of the cap. “Knitted?”

Morven nodded. “It is and felted. This cap will keep yer head warm for many seasons to come. Two pounds sterling firm.”

“Caps such as these go for fifteen Scots silver.” Arden Preyor said. “As ye well know, woman.”

Morven smiled. “I will take yer offer, sir.” She extended her hand for the coin.

Arden Preyor sniffed and straightened up. “Ye have no license to knit caps. Only the guild holds those rights. My guild. I forbid ye to sell that cap.”

Around them, the bartering began to die down. People were turning toward them to see what Morven would say. She opened her hands up. “I am not knitting.”

There was amusement around them. Arden puckered his lips, disliking being made fun of.

“Ye are breaking the law, woman,” he insisted loudly. “I will have ye flogged.”

Eachan and the other Lindsey retainers stopped talking. They moved up behind Morven to lend their support, but she didn’t shirk back behind them.

“The guild only controls this village,” Morven stated firmly. “Not the Lindsey stronghold. There is no law against selling a cap, that is already knit.”

Several men in long black half coats had come closer to listen to the exchange. They leaned in close to one another, discussing the matter. But the villagers around them were nodding in agreement.

“Aye, the laird can do what he pleases inside of his own home.”

“It’s clear as the nose on me face that she is not knitting.”

“There is no law against selling goods in the market.”

Arden Preyor made a slashing motion with his hand. “Remove it from yer table immediately. As the guild master of the knitters, I forbid its sale.”

“The laird is the one who rebuilt more than half the homes in this very town after the English burned it all. How dare ye begrudge him the means to pay what it costs to maintain his responsibilities to his people?” Morven argued. “This cap is knit from our wool yarn. In the laird’s own stronghold that provides all of ye protection.”

The people gathered around weighed her words and whispered to one another. Morven waited, uncertain about the mood of the crowd. They might side with the guilds, for many of their husbands and sons were part of the merchant guilds.

Another man came around the first man to lay some silver coins on the table.

“What do ye think ye are doing, sir?” Arden Preyor demanded.

“I am buying the cap for fifteen pounds Scot,” he answered. “The guild charges twenty.”

Morven happily scooped up the silver. The men scowled at her but with the Lindsey retainers at her back, they did no more than glower.

“This is not finished,” Arden Preyor threatened her. “The guild master will be hearing of this. Even a laird must listen to the guild master.”

Morven tucked the silver into her pouch without any worry appearing on her face. Her customer happily lifted the cap off the bowl before putting it onto his head and tugging it down over his ears. The gathered crowd watched intently.

“It’s a fine cap,” he announced happily.

“Good Lindsey wool and craftsmanship,” Morven added. “No better combination.”

Another man came up to the fount of the table. He reached into his jerkin to withdraw a few coins. “I’ll take the next one, but I have a larger head than that bowl.”

Morven happily pulled out a small length of wool yarn to measure the man’s head.

The three master tradesmen looked with scowls on their faces. They turned in unison and headed back toward the guild master’s hall.

*

Arden Preyor opened his hands up wide. “Ye must deal with that Lindsey woman. Forbid her to sell any more knitted items in the market.”

In front of him, three older men sat listening intently. They were the mayor, the sheriff, and the grand guild master.

Arden flattened his hands on the turned back lapels of his surcoat. It was a very, very fine wool coat. The fabric was worth a small fortune.

“The guilds must know this market will support their monopolies,” Arden finished with a sniff.

The mayor looked at the sheriff.

“A monopoly is valid only within the town boundaries,” the sheriff stated.

“Ye cannot allow her to sell any more caps!” Arden declared loudly. “I pay my dues! It is yer duty to protect my monopoly. If you fail to do this, she will teach others to knit. My guild will have its very foundation turned into dust. And if the laird succeeds in providing knitted goods, which guild will be next? We must destroy this seed now.”

“It remains that a monopoly is only binding and legal within the confines of the town, master Preyor.”

“That is preposterous! I will not stand for it!” Arden hissed. He pointed at the three men. “Ye all enjoy the money my guild delivers to ye. The laird does nay pay a percentage to any of ye.”

The mayor grunted. “The laird’s son had the Lindsey retainers rebuild this town after the English burned it. Retainers must be paid. It would be wrong to say the laird has nae been more than fair with us.”

“But it is knitting!” Arden was working up to a fine fit of rage. “They cannot knit!”

“It would seem they have found someone who knows the skill.”

Arden Preyor pressed his lips together. His face was a mask of rage, but he said no more. No, it was time for action. No one could fault a man for protecting his livelihood.

*

Morven arrived back at the stronghold in time to see Arden Preyor standing in front of the laird. He had several men standing behind him, showing support for his complaint. Ruben was next to his father, proving the matter was serious.

“There she is!” Arden wasted no time pointing at her. “I demand that ye flog her.”

The laird cleared his throat. “Morven….” Oisin couldn’t finish because he started coughing. Ruben lifted his hand and gestured her forward.

Morven stopped in front of the laird and lowered herself. She kept her shoulders straight and her gaze level. No one would be finding it easy to flog her.

Arden pointed at her. “She sold a knitted cap in the market. I am the guild master of the knitters. She has no right to sell knit goods. That monopoly is mine alone.”

“I agreed to hear yer case, no have my father bellowed at,” Ruben warned Arden.

Arden Preyor’s eyes appeared to bulge. “This is a matter of law! This woman must be made an example of! I demand it!” He waved his hands to indicate the other men. “We all demand it.”

In the back of the hall, Sabine felt her belly knot. The guild masters were powerful men, and they were Scots. As an English woman, she doubted she’d fare very well against them. She looked behind her, catching sight of a door that led out to the yard.

Perhaps she should run. Ruben couldn’t deny her the chance to escape a flogging, could he?

But Arland suddenly stepped between her and the doorway. The burly captain had read her intention right off her face.

There was naught left to do but wait to see what her fate would be.

“This is my home,” Oisin raised his voice. “Have a care with yer words or I will have ye thrown out.”

Oisin’s efforts caused another coughing fit. His frail body was wreaked by it. Lindsey retainers started to edge forward, making it clear that they would be happy to comply with their laird should he order them to toss Arden into the yard.

“How dare ye bring in knitters?” Arden wasn’t intimidated. “We represent the guilds. There are monopolies in place. What you are doing is lawless. How can the people feel as though their sons have a future if the guilds are not protected?”

“Now, now…I understand there is a need for guilds to be safeguarded.” Oisin tried to sooth Arden.

Arden Preyor smiled, clearly believing he’d won the argument. “Have her flogged and the knitter as well. Who is this creature who has broken their oath to a knitter’s guild where they learned such a skilled art? Bring forth the traitor.”

The hall was silent because the Lindseys knew that keeping secrets within a guild was important. Having a unique product meant the difference between being able to sell work for good pay and worrying that the market would be full of the same product. People’s lives were better with monopolies. A son might become an apprentice to a guild, and his parents could rest easy, knowing his future was secure.

Sabine was surprised to see that no one looked her way. Morven had clearly kept the cap a secret.

“Who knitted the cap, Morven?” Ruben asked directly.

His tone made it plain that the matter was a serious one.

“Sabine,” Morven answered reluctantly.

Ruben’s eyes narrowed. Arland stepped in front of her, offering her his wide back to hide behind.

She was grateful, even as she battled the certain knowledge that whatever Laird Lindsey decided, it would be done. And she was the foreigner.

“Did she now?” Oisin was clearly pleased.

“Sabine?” Arden Preyor was horrified. “A woman? I demand you remove two of her fingers.”

Sabine sucked in her breath. Her belly knotted and perspiration broke out on her forehead.

“Here now,” Morven objected. “There is no law in monopolies about gender.”

“There must be,” Arden insisted.

“It would not matter if there were,” Ruben said. “The lass is English.”

“You…you brought an English woman here?” Arden sputtered. His face was bright red with agitation.

Laird Lindsey chackled. “Aye, me son carried home the May queen. Seeing as how the English took so very much from my land, it warms me to know Ruben took something of value from the English!”

The hall remained silent for a long moment while the Lindseys decided which side to take. Arland was the first to chuckle. His men took their cue from him, adding their own amusement, until the hall was full of laughter.

“Remove two of her fingers…immediately!” Arden Preyor had the full support of his fellow guild masters. They stood shoulder to shoulder in a hard line. He pointed at the floor. “I will watch.”

Arden turned to look around the hall. Sabine was certain her heart stopped between beats.

Laird Lindsey slammed his hand down on the armrest of his chair. “I will not. She’s our May queen. If there is one thing the Lindseys need this season, it’s for our May queen to grow. Not be cut back.”

“But knitting is my guild monopoly!” Arden shouted.

“A monopoly does nae apply to this stronghold,” Laird Lindsey declared. “That is all I have to say upon the matter.”

Arden wasn’t satisfied. He directed his attention to Ruben who firmly crossed his arms over his chest in response.

“We don’t need a laird who brings home an English trollop,” Arden declared. “Don’t expect any members of the knitter’s guild to cast a vote of confidence for ye.”

The guild masters filed out of the hall, their noses in the air.

“What did he mean, Arland?” Sabine asked quietly.

The burly retainer turned to look at her. “A clan is a Tanis, lass. There will be a vote of approval before a new laird is declared. Ye have eyes in yer head. The matter will be upon us soon.”

Her gaze touched upon Laird Lindsey. The fact that he was frail was impossible to miss.

“Ruben could lose his place over me?”

Sabine was sick all over again. This time it was acutely worse than when Arden had been demanding her fingers be removed.

She couldn’t allow Ruben to suffer such a loss because of her. She simply couldn’t stomach it. Every fiber of her being rebelled against the very idea. Which meant there was only one thing left to do.

She had to leave.

*

Arden Preyor wasn’t a stranger to having to protect what was his.

Back in the guild workshop, he opened the ledger book. Scanning the names of apprentices, he found what he was looking for.

“Bring me Seamus, son of the Lindsey stronghold cook Aisling.”

A young boy hurried off to perform the task his master had demanded. Men were working at the tables throughout the building. They kept their needles moving, but they all took notice when Seamus came back following the young boy.

“Ye called for me?” Seamus sounded as though he knew his place.

Arden Preyor fully intended to test the man. “Your mother is the cook in the Lindsey stronghold?”

Seamus nodded. “She is.”

Arden Preyor leaned forward. “I want to know the name of the knitter, and if she leaves that stronghold.”

Seamus nodded.

Of course he nodded. To be in a guild was the same as a clan. Obedience was absolute because being cast out meant a man would have two of his fingers struck off with a stone chisel so that he could not practice his trade. That was how a monopoly was maintained.

Arden Preyor was looking forward to teaching that lesson to the English knitter!